


Hydrargyrum

by aerlinniel



Series: Harry Potter One-Shots [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark Hermione Granger, Enemies to Friends, Gaslighting, Gen, Gen Work, Manipulation, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, No character bashing, Nurmengard, One Shot, Past Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Post-Canon, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Unreliable Narrator, Young Gellert Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24661603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerlinniel/pseuds/aerlinniel
Summary: Hermione darted forwards, only to come to a sudden stop. There was a distant figure just beyond the water, on the far side of the cave. Head perked up at what must have been the sound of her footsteps.It was a young, blond man—likely her own age, by the look of it. He was sitting still, hands bound with long chains to the nearby floor. His clothes were worn out and rotten, their style older than anything she had seen even Purebloods in England wear. A geometric pattern too faded to fully recognise stood out on the coat’s breast pocket. His hair fell neatly just above his shoulders despite it. Skin, though caked with dirt and grime, smooth and unblemished.(In which, five years after the war, Hermione meets Gellert Grindelwald whilst searching for something that will cure her parents)
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Gellert Grindelwald, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Gellert Grindelwald
Series: Harry Potter One-Shots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644826
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76
Collections: Hermione's Haven Bingo 2020





	Hydrargyrum

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that has been floating around my head for quite a while, particularly since I can't seem to get Grindelwald out of my head. 
> 
> I wrote this as an exploration of how a fully canonical Gryffindor Hermione could ‘fall’ and end up becoming quite a dark wizard. The main driving idea behind it is a sort of ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions’—that even the best intentions of social change and justice can drive people to commit atrocities.
> 
> Written for Hermione's Haven Bingo 2020  
> Square: G4 - Anti-Villain

The old fisherman looked at her wearily, taking his eyes away from the ship’s wheel. “No one has asked me to take anyone to Ogygia since a bit under ten, maybe eleven, years ago.” He paused. Beyond the ship, slowly, the island Hermione aimed to reach grew clearer and more distinct. “The last was an old man, and he looked far stranger than you.”

Hermione nodded absentmindedly, eyes darting away from the book on her lap briefly. “Is it that rare a thing to ask?” she asked curiously. “Given its mention in Homer’s Odyssey I would have thought it’d be more popular.”

He let out a startled laugh. “Oh, not at all. Most locals aren’t even aware of this place. Act strange whenever one mentions it.” He shook his head. “Knowledge of its location used to be common in my father’s time, but it’s only gotten rarer since then.”

The words made her head perk up. “Really?” she asked. “I had heard that there were legends of sirens frequenting this part of the Ionian Sea. To be forgotten like that…”

She didn’t finish her sentence. She couldn’t, not without revealing the other facts she knew about the many magical islands which littered this part of the Mediterranean.

“You must have done quite a lot of research about these parts, young miss, if you know that.”

The fishing boat suddenly rocked beneath them as it cut through the somewhat unruly waters. The fisherman’s head snapped back to the ship’s wheel. Muttering under his breath, he looked on through the clear windows and turned it quickly.

Hermione looked down at her book, not managing to concentrate on the words. It had been difficult to find someone who knew of the island’s exact location, let alone was willing to ferry her to it. The fisherman before her had been the only person to actually agree. His ship’s age couldn’t be disguised even with the bright white and blue paint layered atop its surfaces, but it was sturdy and otherwise well-kept.

It was strange, though, that he had been one of the very few to both remember its location and be willing to approach it. There had once been a prominent siren colony in the past around the area, but the fact likely had very little to do with what the fisherman was describing. Even with how rare information about it was in magical literature, for it to have been forgotten like it had pointed at a very different set of circumstances than those seclusion normally would.

Finding him had been a stroke of luck. That he was a muggle only made things easier, given how it meant avoiding the attention that Wizarding newspapers had subjected her to since the end of the war.

“So, what made you want to travel to this island?” the fisherman asked, after some time had passed. He didn’t look at her, instead keeping his gaze fixed up ahead.

Hermione didn’t miss a beat. “Research,” she said. “I’ve been traveling around Europe for a few months. The references to this place in mythology were too many to resist.”

It was true too—mostly. The reasons that had led her to travel to this particular place had been more complicated than that. Interest and curiosity had played a role, but it had been her resignation from the Ministry and the state her parents had been left in during the war that had really pushed her. She couldn’t deny that it had been an enjoyable experience, though. She’d have never had the chance to see as much of Europe’s wizarding and muggle locations as she had otherwise, and with her personal savings and the post-war Merlin Order award she hadn’t found any problems.

The area she had been travelling through for over a week counted amongst the most beautiful she had seen. The skies clearer than those she had gotten used to seeing whilst travelling through Germany. It had been the blue of the sea which had really caught her eyes, though, its bright azure so utterly unlike the greyish hues the seas surrounding Britain often wore. The weather, which only just was beginning to hint at the smothering heat the summer would be sure to bring to the area, only making it all the more beautiful.

The thought made Hermione falter. Her father would have loved to see it.

“Not a grand tour, then?” The man glanced at her again. “Calypso’s island… Not too many remember that, now. I take you enjoyed reading Odysseus’ journeys?”

“Something like that. I mostly just wanted to take the chance to travel whilst I still could.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “My parents always enjoyed reading about mythology, so here I am.”

“Ah. A good opportunity to take advantage of, that.” He smiled. “I take that they were sad to see you go?”

Hermione’s smile strained. “Somewhat.”

The fisherman nodded, but otherwise didn’t say anything. Eventually, ten minutes later, he lowered the anchor, bringing the small boat to a stop. Stretching his arms, he moved away from the wheel and gestured to a side.

“This is as far as I can get you, Miss Granger. The island has no natural harbours or ports, so it’s impossible to approach with a vessel like this.” He smiled again. “The inflatable ship at the back should get you to the shore safely.”

Hermione stood up from her seat, legs protesting slightly after having remained still for the duration of the journey. Grabbing the strap of her bag, she attempted to get used to the sway of the boat before approaching the old man.

“Thank you. I’m not quite sure how I could have managed to get here hadn’t I spoken to you,” she said. Her hands clenched around the strap of her bag, finding the texture of the old fabric soothing. “On the subject of payment—.”

“Oh no, there’s no need. I was happy to help,” he said. He frowned and looked at her appraisingly. “Are you sure you have enough materials to survive? Your bag’s rather small.”

“I do,” she said brightly. There was no easy way to explain away the many things she actually kept inside her old beaded bag, though hopefully he wouldn’t press the issue. “It may look small, but it’s tightly packed.”

The old man looked at her doubtfully, though seemed to accept her words at face value. “You said you wanted me to sail back here in three weeks to pick you up again?” He smiled at her assent. “Perfect, it is all arranged then, Miss Granger.”

Hermione followed the man as he led her out of the bridge cabin and down a steep flight of metal stairs, through the main deck, to the stern of the boat. She swallowed nervously as she finally saw the inflatable ship the man had suggested she use to approach the shore.

She pressed her lips together. She had never sailed one on her own before. Her father had, once, but that had been years ago.

“Given how close we are to the shore you should be able to row there safely,” the fisherman explained. “Are you sure you will be okay, Miss Granger?”

“I will, thank you.” She would just cast a spell once the man was out of sight to make the oars row on their own.

It was only thirty minutes later that Hermione managed to land on a short strip of beach. Beyond her, up in the air, seagulls cried as they flew around the azure sea surrounding the Greek island.

It didn’t take her long for her to drag the inflatable boat to the drier sand further up. The oars she had charmed to row on their own had come to a stop as it touched the shore, and it was, despite the motor fixed at its back, surprisingly light. Drawing her wand from the holster strapped to her left forearm she cast an anti-theft charm and a fixing charm, adding a concealment charm once she was certain that it was secure. The island was certain to be fully empty, but it wouldn’t pay for her to be careless.

Satisfied, Hermione walked to the edge of the beach, only coming to a stop when she reached a sparse clearing offering a clear sight of the shore. Reaching into her bag, she drew out the tightly bundled white canvas of a tent and dropped it on the floor.

Breathing in, she cast a silent _erecto_ charm.

The tent rose in one fluid motion, rising up to stand at its full height and settling, fully constructed, on the ground before her. Smiling at the familiar sight, Hermione raised both hands and began to carefully layer the long series of wards she had gotten used to casting through her travels. Only coming to a stop once the air surrounding the tent was very nearly humming with her own magic.

She smiled as she finished, and, raising her wand further, swished it. “ _Homenum revelio_.”

Nothing happened. No swooping feeling or anything stood out. There were no human beings nearby.

Hermione let out a relieved sigh sheathed her wand back into the holster. Slowly, she began to walk into the sparse and near-empty interior of the tent.

* * *

Ogygia was a beautiful place, if somewhat small.

The terrain beyond its shores rose in jagged steps, with grass interspersing with bare granite rocks protruding from the ground. Alder and poplar trees covered much of ground, casting shadows across the sparse forest. Cypress trees stood tall on the few meadows scattered throughout, letting brief glimpses of the seagull nests within. Then there was the magic, which, though not obvious at first, had become more and more apparent after a few days had gone by.

It didn’t surprise her, not with its history. It had never been inhabited by a magical community formally, though it had once had an important position amongst ancient Greek witches and wizards. No ruins had been left behind, but the lingering effects of magic were plain to see.

All the research she had conducted up until that point suggested that there had once been some sort of enchanted fountain, river, or lake within the island. Something with powerful effects on human memory, akin to the muggle myths of the river Lethe. The only problem was that she hadn’t been able to find any such body of water anywhere on the island.

Hermione groaned, frustrated, and shut the thick history book she had been reading. It had to be in this island. It wouldn’t make sense if it was anywhere else.

She leant back on her chair and gazed at her tent around her. It looked better now that she had unpacked the belongings she carried in her bag, as it always did. Though objects were sparse, the many books piling up in the tent’s shelves and around her table gave it a welcoming feeling reminiscent of her room in her parent’s house so long ago. The few photographs she carried with her—of Harry, Ron, and her parents—adding life to the stark white canvas walls.

Hermione rose from the chair. Breathing in deeply, she began to walk outside of the tent. Warm midday heat hit her as she exited through its single entrance, oddly welcoming after the stillness reigning inside.

None of the problems she had encountered mattered. Not the obstacles in her research or the situation that had forced her resignation from the Ministry. It was only a matter of time before she finally managed to find a solution to what her own memory charm and the attack her parents had suffered during the war had done. She’d overcome it all and return to her friends in order to fix the blatant injustices that had persisted even after the war.

Clenching her fists, she began to walk towards the beach, determined to find what she had come seeking. Time, that was all it would take. Her answers were here in this island. She’d just have to find them.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_How have you been? Last time you wrote you said you were leaving Germany and heading to Greece, to that magical island you mentioned perhaps being of help. I imagine that this letter will likely get to you once you’re already there, but I hope securing travel to get to it wasn’t too difficult._

_Ginny’s pregnancy will be coming to term soon. The mediwizards said we’ll be having a boy. I’ll admit that I’m terrified. I know what you told me about it when you left—Ron has said as much too—but what if I’m not a good father? I feel so unprepared for this. Anyways, before I forget, Ginny and I wanted to ask you to be his godmother. Neither of us can think of a better person. Do you think you’ll manage to make it for the ceremony?_

_You won’t be surprised to hear that Ron finally quit the Auror Office and joined George at his shop. He seemed relieved, honestly. As for me, everything at the Ministry is going well. Kingsley asked me recently to reiterate the offer he made you of a position at the Auror Office. I told him I’d forward it to you. He’s still quite saddened by your decision to resign from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures after what happened._

_To update on the last draft law bill you proposed, the situation so far hasn’t changed. Though it was debated in the Wizengamot this Tuesday, their opinion is still the same. ‘Too radical’. They want you to edit away the clauses on rights and legal status. I’m going to try to smooth it over with them. The fact there hasn’t been update to the situation on werewolves in over a century is mind-boggling—Kingsley agrees._

_I hope to hear from you soon. Love,_

_Harry._

* * *

Hermione felt the moment lightning struck. A chill ran through her as the magic latent in the background flared, surging wildly as it became near-palpable for a brief instant. The hairs on the back of her neck standing up at the unrestrained, turbulent feeling.

It was gone as quickly as it had come, petering out until nothing of the primal sensation she had felt remained.

Frowning, Hermione took her bag and exited the tent, passingly grabbing an umbrella to protect herself from the heavy rain that had been pouring all day. She bit her lip. _What was that?_ she thought.

A week after arriving to the island the weather had decayed considerably, blue skies disappearing and giving way to murky grey storm clouds. Rain eventually coming to force her to stay indoors within the tent for far longer than she would have otherwise liked.

It had only been that, though: a storm. So, what on earth had that surge of magic been?

_It couldn’t be a regular occurrence, could it?_

Hermione opened the umbrella and began to walk within the wards she had layered around her tent. They were unchanged, as were the terrain around them. There was something off in the distance, though; towards the centre of the island. Her wards were dampening the feeling, but it was there—dim and barely noticeable, scarcely a chill in her spine.

Making up her mind, she walked outside of the boundaries of her wards and through the forest, towards the vague sensation. It was hard to tell what it was exactly, but it was clearly there. A gentle buzz the very edge of her senses, reminiscent of the ancient wards surrounding certain pureblood properties in England.

It wasn’t until she began to climb up the hill at the centre of the island, carefully evading the slippery slopes of the bare granite rocks, that the otherwise dim feeling became sharper and more distinct. Incensed and humming in the air due to whatever it had been that the lightning had caused. Eventually, she was facing a near-uniform wall of stone. Unbroken and undisturbed, it was only the heavy of magic and the charred patches of grass around it which gave it away as something distinct from the unimpressive landscape around it.

Hermione drew the wand from the holster and pointed it forwards. “ _Revelio_.”

The surface shimmered. Slowly, the smooth wall of rock began to change, revealing a large pile of collapsed boulders. They were blocking something; a passageway or a cave of some sort, by the looks of it.

Her fingers dug into the vinewood. “ _Bombarda maxima_!”

The collapsed wall of boulders blew apart, revealing the entrance to cave. Hermione gaped. She didn’t know what had caused this area to suddenly buzz like it was, but that didn’t matter. This was it—it had to be.

She closed her umbrella and stepped into the open passageway.

“ _Lumos_.”

The familiar brightness of the wand-lighting charm lit the area around her, revealing what had to be the deliberately cut edges of granite walls. It was damp—too damp—yet no moss had grown at all in the strange, human-made path. Carved runes began to appear on the walls as they gradually grew smoother and straighter, their edges sharp and clear despite the time that must have passed since they had been written.

 _“_ Stillness. Concealment. Permanence…” she muttered, attempting to make out the purpose of the larger, more elaborate constructs they formed.

They grew more numerous and elaborate as the passage widened, changing into the Cretan form of the ancient Greek alphabet. From there they grew even more archaic, slowly growing sharper until the only things she could see were the jagged edges of cuneiform.

The light at the tip of her wand flickered out as she passed under two Doric columns, engulfing her in darkness.

Hermione breathed in sharply and flicked her wand again. “ _Lumos_ ”.

Nothing happened.

 _“Lumos_ ,” she repeated.

Her wand refused to react again.

Feeling impatient, Hermione drew and flicked it more widely. _“Lumos maxima_!”

Nothing. She couldn’t so much as feel her wand. _Just what is this place?_ she wondered.

Hands trebling, Hermione opened her bag and dug out a torch. She exhaled loudly when it flickered on. At least the electrical device worked, regardless of what it was about the location that prevented her from casting magic.

Hermione took a few careful steps to her side, only coming to a stop when she could feel the cuneiform carved into the now-smooth walls beneath her fingertips. Step by step she pressed through the passage beyond her, counting her breaths and as she focused on the symbols on the walls. Widening bit by bit until she was standing at the edge of a hall.

Her heart leaped. It was massive—enough that her torch only illuminated the few metres immediately in front of her. Columns seemed to have been carved out of the walls of the massive space, but it otherwise remained oddly wild, with large stones littering the area. A huge body of water, shallow and clear, occupied most of the area immediately around the area’s entrance.

She beamed. _I was right—it’s really here_.

Hermione darted forwards, intent on reaching its edge, only to come to a sudden stop. There was a distant figure just beyond the water, on the far side of the cave; a man, by the look of it. Head perked up at what must have been the sound of her footsteps.

She frowned. Her spell had consistently shown that there were no human beings in the island. Slowly, she began to walk around the body of water, approaching him hesitantly, and pointed the torch at him. The man recoiled instantly, holding up a hand to block the bright electrical light as he let out a loud grimace.

It was a young, blond man—likely her own age, by the look of it. He was sitting still, hands bound with long chains to the nearby floor. His clothes were worn out and rotten, their style older than anything she had seen even Purebloods in England wear. A geometric pattern too faded to fully tell apart stood out on the coat’s breast pocket. Despite it, his hair fell neatly just above his shoulders. Skin, though caked with dirt and grime, smooth and unblemished.

“Who are you?”

The man blinked rapidly and shut his eyes. “Move that away, will you?” he said with a thick German accent, voice hoarse and raspy.

“Sorry, I didn’t—!” Hermione fumbled and moved the torch to a side, so it was only the indirect light of the muggle device that lit up the area around them. Slowly, visibly relieved, the man reopened his eyes. “I’m Hermione Granger.”

His lips twisted downwards. “I felt your arrival,” he said lowly, as if testing the words. He glanced back up at her, and Hermione found herself subject to a prolonged stare. “What could an English witch be doing here?”

His eyes were blue, she realised—a blue bright and vivid enough to be distinctive in the darkness around them. “I’ve been travelling. I’m researching—.” She paused abruptly, fingers clenching around the torch. “Why are you here, anyways?”

Lifting a hand, the man rattled one of the long, heavy chains. “Well. I am not here quite by choice, you could say.”

There was a strange stutter in his speech which pointed at disuse. It was reminiscent of the way in which long-term Azkaban inmates spoke, particularly those who had been placed in solitary confinement. Judging by his expression as his lips curled around the syllables, the man was aware and frustrated by it.

There had to be more to who he was given the chains at his wrists. Not many wizards were kept outside of prisons like Azkaban, but when they were the motivation was always tied to their power and ability. To something that made them far too dangerous.

Hermione frowned and looked at the man again. He couldn’t be younger than her; at most he was nearing thirty. So why did he sound like that? “How long have you been here? You don’t seem to be any younger than me,” she asked.

“I wouldn’t have been able to tell exactly.” The man narrowed his eyes. “What is it that you seek to solve?”

Hermione sighed. He was suspicious but given the situation she had nothing to lose by being forthcoming. Perhaps, regardless of just why he was within the cave, he’d be able to offer her information.

She grimaced at the memories the words resurfaced. The dread she had felt at having to erase herself from her parent’s memories. The terror that had run through her when, that very day, before they had been able to leave, the house had been attacked by Death Eaters. She had barely managed to apparate away, but the image of the black robed group cornering her parents, of the dark mark, vibrant and verdant in the sky, would never leave her.

Then there was how she had been forced to fight to keep her parents in St. Mungo’s Janus Thickey Ward after the war despite everything she had been forced to endure. Years of little to no progress due to their status as muggles and the complications that arose in their situation.

She breathed in deeply. “A few years ago, I cast a memory charm on my parents to get them away from a war. A curse complicated their situation, so I couldn’t revert it once it ended. I thought that the myths surrounding this location would help.”

The man visibly perked up at the words. “Ah. I see. The river Lethe, yes?” he waited for her to nod before continuing. “A creative idea, though you’re bound to be sorely disappointed. No matter what tales say about this place, its waters are completely normal.”

“That’s impossible!” she exclaimed. “Though the accounts are rare, they all point at—.”

“Those are only misinterpretations of their original purpose and use.” His lips curved into a crooked smile even as he stopped briefly, seeming to search for his next words. “A location such as this is unique—the degree of lingering magic contained within it makes it perfect for a number of rituals.”

Hermione felt something inside her break. She hadn’t been able to read all of the runes, not with how archaic some of them were, but the meanings of the ones she had recognised had been clear. _Still—._ “So, there’s nothing to do?” she asked. “Nothing for me to look into here?”

“I did not say that, did I?”

“What do you know?” she asked demandingly. “I haven’t been able to find any firm information on high level memory charms anywhere.”

The man tilted his head appraisingly. “The method would vary depending on the facts of the case, but it is an easy thing to fix. At least for those with sufficient experience.” He leant back and rested his hands on the stone floor behind him. The chains—thick and coarse—rattled with the motion. “Of course, given how I am trapped here without a wand there is not much I can do.”

Swallowing loudly, Hermione paused to really look at the man before her. She couldn’t make out whether the coat he was wearing had been used for formal occasions or something more practical, not in the state it was. Judging by its style and cut, however, it was clear that he must have been a Pureblood.

What had he done that had meant his being bound within this place?

“Who are you?” Her voice trembled.

The man huffed in amusement. Slowly, he rolled his shoulders and stretched his joints. Despite his visibly good humour, when he met her eyes again, he had a lean and hungry look.

“You can call me Gellert.”

* * *

Gellert was captivating—that much Hermione couldn’t deny. He had a way about him that had taken her in. A certain raffish and self-possessed air that, despite her doubts, had made her return the day after first finding him.

It was clear, despite the oddness of his situation, that he had a sharp and keen mind. He was brightly aware of everything that went on around him, and, despite the utter lack of magic within the cave he was bound in, had demonstrated a degree of magical sensitivity that had astounded her. Smiles seemed to come easily to him. She couldn’t always tell if they were genuine, but it was easy to see that his more haunting and sombre looks were.

There were weird things too, however; such as his oddly detailed and selective historical knowledge and his unorthodox views on common theories of magic. His speech, too; which, though stunted by his solitary confinement, pointed at the type of high-class upbringing she had only ever heard references about in relation to her great-grandparents. The German lilt with which he spoke fitting more the first half of the twentieth century than the current times.

He knew more than he let on about magic, though the fact fascinated Hermione more than it repelled her. He claimed to be proficient in just about any topic she mentioned. The wealth of knowledge he had on the purpose and use of certain magical traditions, such as the Saturnalia, enough to make Hermione want to travel even further.

Four days after first finding the cave, in what had become a routine daily visit, she found him reading one of the many books she had packed from England with the light of her spare torches; both of which she had lent him the day before. It was one of the ones she had bought following the war—the first part of a set of four covering modern transfiguration discoveries.

He addressed her as soon as she crossed the threshold of the massive, hall-like cave, eyes fixed on the pages before him.

“You cast quite a few spells this morning; charms of some sort.”

Hermione didn’t even blink. “Detection charms. I found the fact that not everyone could remember the island’s location odd when I was trying to get here.” She paused, thinking through the puzzle that was the local muggles’ faulty memory of Ogygia. “I presume an enchantment of some sort must be at work. Perhaps something similar to the fidelius charm, but I didn’t find any evidence for it.”

Gellert looked up from the book. “It is not the fidelius,” he stated. “Though you are correct in suspecting it is similar to it.”

She sat down in front of him. “How do you know?”

“It was cast when I was taken here,” Gellert said simply. He gestured to the chains bound to his wrists. “I am not fully aware of its details, though I can tell you it is tied to these chains.”

Hermione leant towards the blond man, attempting to get a better look of the metal which kept him bound at this side of the cave. They were long and seemed to be fairly heavy, judging by how the metal dent into Gellert’s skin. It was little wonder that it was iron which had been used as the base material. An extensive series of runes had been carved across their entire length; their combined effect clear. They hadn’t just been written in a single language, but a multitude of them. None were as archaic as those that littered the walls of the cave, though they were still undoubtedly impressive.

“Whatever it is you did must have been bad to earn you these chains,” Hermione muttered, reading through the different runes.

It wasn’t something any witch or wizard would have been able to do. No. Someone powerful must have made them. Someone, perhaps, like Dumbledore; though it was hard to imagine her old Headmaster as having a reason to be in a place like this.

“Who made these?” she asked, not quite managing to hide the admiration she felt at the sight of the complicated construct.

Gellert’s lips curled into a grim smile. “I did.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You—? But how—? I’ve never seen anything like this,” she blurted out. She breathed in. “I can’t think of a single other wizard in Britain beyond Albus Dumbledore who could have possibly made something like this. You used iron to add potency to the binding effect of the runes, though, didn’t you?”

“It was.” He looked at her with a heavy, assessing gaze. “Its alchemical value heightens the runic structures.”

“This wasn’t the location they were meant to be in, was it? They don’t fit with what hides away the island,” Hermione said, gesturing around her.

Gellert raised his eyebrows and looked, for a second, surprised. “It wasn’t.”

His expression changed fairly quickly, and, moving his arm widely, he grabbed hold of a segment of the chains. Placing it on his thighs, he looked at them appraisingly. Hermione took a deep, measured breath and looked away from him. She hadn’t been naive enough to think he was normal, but the chains were something else.

“Miss Granger. Hermione,” Gellert said softly, not moving an inch. “What drove you to leave wizarding Britain?”

Her eyes widened at the sudden question. “My research—.”

“Wouldn’t have necessarily meant forcibly leaving. No, it must have been something else.”

Hermione sighed. He was right, of course. “No, I—.” She ran a hand through her hair. It felt messy and tangled even after a short time within the cave, the damp in its air making it curl excessively. “I worked at the Ministry for a while, once the war ended and I completed my N.E.W.T. exams. It was good at first, but I didn’t like the culture the Department I was in had.”

“Was it dissatisfying?”

“I suppose it was, though I didn’t think it would.” A familiar sense of frustration ran through her. The sheer level of opposition she had faced from Umbridge’s successor had blocked all of her efforts to do anything of importance. “I thought that once the war ended, I’d be able to help change things, but it wasn’t the case. My origins got in the way.”

She bit her lip. She shouldn’t tell this much to someone she barely knew, to someone so utterly suspicious, but it was easier to confess it now than it had been back then.

“I tried—I really did. I presented bills at the Wizengamot on nearly every subject I could think of. House-elf rights, centaur territory regulations, werewolf discrimination…” Her hand trembled with concealed rage. They had been too corrupt to be able understand the value of what she proposed. Too interested in the galleons in their pockets and their chances at re-election to see the value of what she proposed. “The Wizengamot accepted none of it. Not even with what my friends and I had to do during the war. ‘Too radical’, apparently.”

Gellert tilted his head to a side. “Unsurprising.”

“Why do you think that?”

“You couldn’t have expected change to occur from the same society that led to Voldemort’s rise, could you?” He didn’t so much as hesitate at the use of the name. “It is the British Ministry of Magic, after all.”

 _How does he—?_ “Change does happen slowly, though,” she argued back. “I shouldn’t have expected things to go smoothly, even with Voldemort’s recent defeat. It took Dumbledore years to get anything done. I’ll retake an offer I’ve been made once my parents are healed and—.”

Gellert smiled crookedly. “Do you really believe that?”

“Of course!”

“It ought to be a crime, to treat sentient magical creatures in the manner in which the British Ministry of Magic does,” Gellert said, tutting. “Can one defend such a thing?”

Hermione rose sharply, fists clenched tightly enough that she could feel how her fingernails dug into her skin. He wasn’t wrong, but the magnitude of what he was suggesting didn’t sit right with her. If the origin of all of the problems was the fact that the system itself was corrupt, what could she even do?

Gellert leant back. The angle, coupled with the long shadows made by the torch on the floor, made his expression seem harsh and mocking. “You said it yourself. Even Albus Dumbledore, for all his good intentions, didn’t achieve anything in the end. No, he was branded a madman and got killed under the orders of the very dark lord who purportedly feared him.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my ways.” He smiled faintly. “Though I owe honesty, at least, for all that you’ve told me. He visited me some years ago, that dark lord. Albus too, before that.”

She took a step back. _This man—._

Gellert ignored her reaction. Instead he pushed against the floor and began to stand up. The chains rattled, only coming to a stop once he was at his full height. They were too taut, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by how they visibly dented into the ends of his wrists.

“But that is neither here nor there, Miss Granger. I have thought about your parent’s case—about that memory charm you told me about.”

“What about it?” Hermione spat. She shouldn’t have returned to the cave after first finding him. She shouldn’t have ever talked to him—not this much.

“I can offer you a cure.”

She felt herself deflate at the words. “What?” she asked, stunned.

“A solution, Hermione.”

Hermione felt queasier than she had in years. She should leave the island and never return; never speak of just who it was she had, perhaps, managed to find. It didn’t make sense—he was younger, far younger, than he should have been. He didn’t even look malnourished. Was it the effect of the enchantments of the cave or the result of a ritual?

The thrill of curiosity ran through her, followed by a sharp pang of guilt. “Tell me your name.”

“This is a one-time offer, Hermione.” His eyes, vivid and piercing, fixed on hers. Suddenly, Hermione understood just how the man before her had managed to enrapture so many into his cause. “I can give you the means to cure your muggle parents. It will be clean and easy—a flick of a wand and they’ll be back to how you can remember them.”

Memories of the many trips her parents and her had taken together flashed through her mind. They had wanted to visit so many places with her that summer, after she graduated.

Hermione swallowed the lump on her throat. This was an opportunity. He hadn’t said his name yet, and neither had she. She could play along, for now. It wouldn’t mean anything.

“How?” she asked, gathering her resolve.

* * *

Hermione almost fell onto her knees when she apparated into the area. Breathing in deeply, she attempted to recompose herself from the draining effect of the international apparition. It was uncomfortable, particularly at such long distances, but there weren’t any other realistic ways with which she could have reached the location.

It had taken her a full two days to come to a decision on what to do with the information that Gellert—that Grindelwald—had given her. In the end, despite the qualms she felt at the idea of so much as listening to the man, the opportunity that it presented had been too much to resist. She had been seeking something to revert the curse the Death Eaters had placed on them for too long to do otherwise. Thus, here she was; before the infamous fortress that the man Dumbledore had defeated built.

It was both a terrifying and awe-worthy sight.

The images in history books and old newspapers didn’t do it justice. Nurmengard had been built atop of one of the many peaks littered across the Alps. It had a stark and sombre appearance. The dark walls rose from the edges of the cliffs and the sharp falls beneath them, gothic and grim, reaching for the open sky high above. Around it were only bare stones and patches of melting snow. The thick pine forest at the very foot of the peak, far beneath the Austrian magical hamlet she stood in at the moment, the only touch of green.

Quickly, Hermione began to walk through the hamlet’s near-empty streets, searching for a way to approach the fortress. The magical community seemed to be almost entirely disconnected from other settlements, with no paths leading from it to the lush valley below or any sort of outside road. Instead only a thin, meandering path connected it to the fortress towering up above. The wind picked up as she began to ascend through the slope, forcing her to cast a heating charm on her cloak when she was only halfway there.

The sight that greeted her when she reached the peak left her feeling astonished despite the fortress’ foreboding appearance. Towers rose at carefully calculated intervals, near-vertical roofs crowning their tops. The walls, which had seemed so imposing from a distance, seemed even larger up close. A few, large segments had collapsed to the ground, however, and charred, burnt marks—clear signs of spell damage—were littered all around. The fortress was, also, nearly empty.

A set of detection charms revealed that nothing surrounded the fortress beyond simple muggle-repelling charms, an anti-disapparation jinx, and an anti-apparition charm. Whatever elaborate wards and defences had once surrounded the fortress had collapsed long ago; a fact which was compounded by how her _homenum revelio_ revealed far fewer presences than she would have otherwise thought.

There were barely any guards in the fortress at all.

Hermione pointed her wand at herself. “ _Muffliato_.”

Steeling her resolve, she walked under the collapsed tower gate, distantly noticing the faded slogan which had once been carved on it. Once in the inner courtyard she walked towards a tower Gellert had indicated in his explanation; a smaller one outside of the main area, towards its back.

She flicked her wand. “ _Aberto_.”

The lock clicked open. Hermione opened it and entered the tower swiftly, only taking a moment to look around the area before beginning to descend down a set of granite stairs. Her fingers dug into her vinewood wand as she pushed down. The staircase was dark and musty, the pale red fires in the brackets of the walls barely managing to light it. The smell got heavier once she reached the bottom of the stairs, mixing with what mould. Hermione counted doorways as she walked by discarded and broken furniture. Coming to a stop only once she had turned left twice and reached a hallway’s end.

Hermione smiled as she looked the bare wall. It was heavily warded, just like Gellert had said. Slyly, she glanced at the empty hallway around her, and, seeing that there weren’t any indications of anyone being remotely close, began to work at removing the wards.

A consuming sense of thrill ran through her as she began the slow, gruelling job. It was, without a doubt, one of the hardest combinations she had ever seen. The way that its maker—Gellert, undoubtedly—had interwoven runes with the series of complicated spells layered around them was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was eerily reminiscent of what she had seen on the chains which bound him to the cave, and it spoke volumes about his magical abilities and intelligence

It was only once five minutes had passed that she felt the heavy wards begin to ease up, layer by layer, until, eventually, a plain wooden door appeared in front of her. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she turned the doorknob and pushed it open.

Hermione was taken aback by the sight that met her. The study room was just like Gellert had described. It had been mostly unaffected by the decay of the rest of the fortress. Bookshelves lined the walls, the books on them barely showing signs of having been affected by time. Little to no dust covered the room’s many wooden surfaces.

Breathing in deeply, she walked towards one of the bookshelves at the back. The pile of notebooks she was searching for supposedly were atop one of its shelves, besides a thin box supposedly containing a wand. A smile broke on her lips as she found them—old and worn, but otherwise exactly like Gellert had described them. Grabbing hold of them, she gently put them in her bag, stopping briefly to look at the wand that she had also been asked to take back.

Gently, she picked up the thin, wooden box and opened it. The wand inside was plain and unadorned. She couldn’t tell what the wood was exactly, though it looked similar to fir or her own wand’s vinewood.

Grudgingly, Hermione placed it back into the box and, then, within her own bag. Her heart began to beat erratically at the action. She knew who it had been owned by, and, though she didn’t like it, its retrieval had been a precondition to the information which the notebooks contained.

Pointedly ignoring the many objects scattered around the room, Hermione turned around and walked out of room. Briskly, she began to make her way through the same corridors she had crossed in order to get to the warded study room.

 _He’s bound_ , she told herself. She huffed and ignored the acidic feeling of guilt at the base of her stomach. _Wand or not, it will be of no use to him_.

She was nearing the staircase she had descended through to get to the basement level when a light blue curse smashed against a nearby wall.

“Hey!”

Hermione’s head snapped around, heart skipping a beat. An auror. Noting his position in the hallway, she lunged sideways and flicked her wand silently. A stunning spell flew out. The auror collapsed immediately, wand falling onto the floor.

She approached him slowly, wand still raised, and knelt beside him. The man was definitely an auror; Austrian, judging by the uniform. He was younger than she was; likely just barely twenty.

Her hands trembled. She had been lucky to down him as quickly as she had, before he managed to alert whatever other guards were near of her location, but she couldn’t leave him like this.

The incantation of the memory charm fell easily from her lips. Her heart began to race. She didn’t like it, but there was no other way. “ _Obliviate_.”

Hermione got up, hand trembling slightly. She resumed walking, intent on leaving the fortress as soon as she could.

The sun was close to its highest point when she reached the outside of Nurmengard’s walls. She began to make her way down the steep slope as quickly as she could, veering off the path until, finally, once she outside the fortress’ lacking wards, she disapparated away.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_James Sirius Potter was born early yesterday morning. There were no complications, and thanks to the healers he was born healthy. I can’t express just how excited Ginny and I both are. I imagine things will come to really change over the next months, but I don’t think I’ll be able to forget how it was to hold him for the first time. How is the research going? Do you think you will be able to return soon? Ginny and I were sorry to see that you weren’t able to make it in the end. We’re still determined to have you as the godmother, though Molly has been pressing for someone else to take the role instead. I refused—if it ought to be anyone, it ought to be you and Ron._

_I imagine you’ll have heard by now, but what happened at Nurmengard a few days ago has the International Confederation of Wizards in a panic. The Auror Office will be collaborating with the investigation force they are arranging to take control of the events. They’re still not sure what it was that they were looking for. It is certain that Grindelwald didn’t escape, though given his age and the amount of time he has spent in there I can’t imagine what he would be able to do. It’s likely that given my track record I’ll be joining the taskforce; I know for a fact that were you here, Kingsley would most likely ask you to join too._

_There has also been an update to your draft law bill. Kingsley and I tried our best to make the Wizengamot reconsider, but they finally decided to scrap it completely. This was a bit of a surprise, but the elections that took place this last month changed the balance of the chamber considerably. The new majority, now that a lot of the old surviving families have returned to take their inherited seats, seems to be against werewolf rights completely. I’m really sorry, Hermione. I hate being the one to bear bad news like this. There was really nothing we could do—the worst were the articles the Daily Prophet ran against the bill. Still, this isn’t the end. We need to keep trying. The purebloods in the Wizengamot have to see reason one day._

_Anyways, this will be a bit of a surprise, but I have gotten access to an international portkey to Athens. Do you think we’d be able to meet? I’d be able to arrange to have a day off on any day that works best for you. I’m not sure Ron will be able to join, but if things at the shop settle down he’ll be sure to do so._

_I hope to hear from you soon. Love,_

_Harry._

* * *

Hermione found Gellert lying on the ground when she trudged into the cave, torch lit and book in hand. The volume, ‘Improbable Inferences in Modern Magical Theory’, one of the very last she had bought before leaving England, open in his hands.

“You came back.”

“I did,” she said simply, averting her eyes.

There was no doubt that he had known the very moment she had apparated back to the island, though her returning to the cave hadn’t been an easy decision. The knowledge of just what she had done had left her feeling emotionally exhausted, even if the contents of the notebooks were fascinating. Then there was the fact of the wand, which had been another matter entirely.

Gellert pushed himself up, the chains at his wrists clinking with the movement. His eyes flicked to her and fixed on her bag. He smiled and closed the thick volume. “You got the notebooks. The wand, too.”

Hermione opened her bag and dug around, until she felt the thin box she had stolen away. Taking it out, she offered it to him. “Here.”

His eyes widened slightly as he took the box with the wand. Opening it, he glanced at it only briefly before closing it again. Then, almost as if in wonder, he tilted his head. “You return my wand back to me, despite knowing who I am.”

“I had my doubts at first, but when you mentioned Nurmengard there wasn’t much left to doubt,” she bit. “Still, a deal’s a deal.”

“Even so, you chose to do so,” he said, German accent bleeding through his voice slightly. “Tell me, what was it? Was it the desire to cure your parents or your dissatisfaction with the society you left behind? The total lack of progress at everything you wanted to fix in the Ministry?”

“I don’t want to see you again.” Hermione clenched her hands. “You’re a monster! You’re no different than Voldemort and everything I had to fight against.”

“Don’t compare me to that dark lord.” Gellert narrowed his eyes, expression twisting. “Magic is might. You already know that, don’t you?” he asked. “You said yourself what it was you left behind. The state in which the witches and wizards in your government have allowed their fellow magical creatures to live in is disgraceful. Is it any wonder so many chose to join that dark lord?”

“I—,” Hermione said, stopping abruptly. She didn’t like anything of what Grindelwald had done in his quest for power. He had done nothing but cause untold suffering to millions in his purported quest for change.

 _Yet,_ a voice in her head whispered traitorously, _he’s right in pointing out how little things have changed. In saying just how prejudiced and stagnant magical societies still are_.

Hadn’t it been the very Ministry she had joined that had caused Voldemort to rise in the first place? Hadn’t it only started to really deal with what remained of the Death Eaters at his death?

Despite Kingsley’s best efforts Harry, even now, was only a figurehead. He had a good position as an auror, but political power remained very far from the three of them—and little wonder. Most of the people who had worked for the Muggleborn Registration Commission had kept jobs of some sort, Umbridge a notable yet rare exception. The Ministry only turning to deal with the remnants of the death eaters once he was dead.

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line. No. She couldn’t agree with the methods of the man before her, but he had a point. Could the old aristocrats in the Wizengamot be trusted with the very same change they had strived to prevent for decades? If things didn’t change there would be a new Voldemort in just a few decades, and by then everything Harry, Ron, and her had suffered for would one day have been for nought.

She didn’t like it but, perhaps, if change didn’t come, it would have to be forced. Grindelwald was right in at least that regard. If she allowed guilt to guide her every action, she’d never succeed in getting things done.

“It still doesn’t justify any of what you did,” she finally said, voice shaking.

Gellert smiled and tilted his head, the action making him seem jarringly innocent. A few strands of hair fell over his eyes as he leant towards her, and her eyes flickered away, to the symbol embroiled on his coat’s breast pocket.

Were those the same clothes he had worn during his duel with Dumbledore?

It had been oddly easy, through the conversations they had shared, to forget that the man before her had been on par with Dumbledore himself. One of the greatest wizards of their age despite everything he had done.

A thought, slow and insidious, settled firmly in her mind.

By the time she looked back at him his blue and bright eyes were filled with the same intensity she could remember from previous days. Instinctively, she knew she’d answer to what he was about to ask.

“Perhaps we could make a deal, Miss Granger.”

* * *

The eyes of the gorgon flashed as Hermione pushed the Athenian tavern’s door open. She entered the establishment swiftly, eyes darting around its crowded interior in search of her best friend.

It wasn’t long before she saw him; his dark and unruly hair familiar even amidst the crowd. Looking away from the witches and wizards crowding at the tavern’s door, she made her way towards the table Harry was sitting close to the room’s back. Thankful for respite the cool interior offered from the sweltering summer outside.

Harry smiled brightly at her. “Hermione!”

“Harry! It’s been so long,” she said, smiling back.

Hermione marvelled at how much she had missed spending time with Harry as a bartender approached to take their orders. It had taken quite some time at first, when she had started to travel on her own across Europe, to get used to being away from her friends; it was somewhat strange to have him so close again.

“How have you been, Harry?” she asked.

“I don’t think there’s much to tell that I haven’t said already in the letters,” he said with a grin. “James’ keeps growing more and more every day, Ginny and I really have had our hands full lately. Ron’s happier than he was before—he says wishes he could have come.”

Hermione bit her lip. She should have been there with her friends, but she had been too busy with research at the island. Once the Nurmengard affair had taken place she had been altogether too distracted to so much as remember the date.

“Don’t worry about not having been able to come to England in time for James’…” Harry scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Well, Luna agreed to fill the role in the end—you should have seen how happy she was at the ceremony.”

A sharp feeling of shame settled in the pit of her stomach. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I really wanted to be there.”

“I won’t say Ginny and I weren’t disappointed, but we can understand. You’ve been working on trying to cure your parents for so long, Hermione.” He shook his head and smiled. “But tell me, Hermione, how have you been? I think you said you found a cure?”

“I did.” She looked away, not quite daring to meet her friend’s eyes. Distractedly, she noticed the bartender bringing two glasses of butterbeer. “I haven’t tested it yet, but I’m positive it will work.”

“That’s great!” he exclaimed. “I imagine that you will be coming back soon, then? Everyone really wants to see you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Harry.” She looked down, not quite daring to meet her friend’s eyes. “I’ve discovered so many things whilst I was travelling. I’m not sure I could ever return to the Ministry, now.”

A pronounced frown pulled Harry’s lips down. “I thought—.”

The same feeling of wonder she had felt whilst tearing the Nurmengard study room’s wards made her smile even as the corrosive guilt in her stomach grew. The thrill she had felt in Grindelwald’s—in Gellert’s—presence willing her to try and explain to her friend without revealing anything just why it was she wouldn’t be returning. How could she, after everything that had happened? After everything that she had been told?

“You should have seen it. There was a cave in the island, just like I suspected there would. There were these runes carved into its walls and—.” She stopped and breathe in. “There are so many places to see, Harry. So many things I could learn. I—. I don’t think I could do that if I returned to the ministry.”

“I don’t like it, but I can understand.” Harry said sadly. “Was it the Wizengamot? What they did to your bills?”

“In part,” Hermione admitted grimly. “I was naive to think that the same political bodies that allowed Voldemort’s rise would accept change.”

“I can’t say I agree with you there.” He leant back into his chair. Reaching forwards, he grabbed the glass of butterbeer and drank lightly from it. “Kingsley will be heartbroken, though,” he said, smiling lopsidedly. “He really wanted us both to join the ICW taskforce to investigate the Nurmengard affair, you know?”

Hermione felt herself freeze. “He did?”

“It’s been chaos over it lately. Given our experience in the war he said he couldn’t think of anyone better for the job.”

“Have you started work on it already?”

“I have,” he said. “This isn’t something I should be saying, but the security around the fortress—around Nurmengard—was horribly lacking.”

She steeled herself. “You travelled to Nurmengard?”

“I did,” Harry said sombrely. “The place is practically a labyrinth. Its plagued with wards, too; the sort you’d find interesting. It will take us months to go through it.” He drank from the glass again. “The surprising thing is, though, that Grindelwald actually wasn’t there in the first place anyways.”

“He wasn’t?”

“No. The ICW didn’t want to confirm it at first, but—. Well, suffice to say that I ended up visiting Hogwarts in order to talk with Dumbledore’s portrait. He had a lot of things to say.” He breathed in deeply. “They never imprisoned him there. Too risky, given he built the place himself.”

Harry’s face fell. Nervously, he readjusted his glasses and leant forwards. “Truth be told, Hermione, I was told to ask you something.”

She felt her heart skip a beat. “What is it?”

“The area where Grindelwald was imprisoned in is very close to where you were travelling through.” His lips twisted downwards. “Tell me the truth. Do you know anything about what happened at Nurmengard?”

“No.”

Harry exhaled loudly. “Thank Merlin. There was this fisherman, Hermione. A squib. He—.” He ran a hand through his hair again, messing it further. “I’m so sorry I doubted you. I was so nervous when I heard what he said.”

Hermione breathed in. “It’s okay, Harry.”

Her friend stood up brusquely. “I wish I could stay for longer, but I must tell Kingsley immediately. He’ll be glad to know.”

“I’m sorry I can’t return to England with you, Harry.” Hermione stood up, mirroring his action. “Will you give Ron and Ginny my best?”

“I will, don’t worry.” Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just be careful, alright? Write if you’re in trouble.”

“I will,” she said, smiling, hands feeling shaky.

Before she knew it, they had paid the bartender and left the tavern together, walking only a bit through the ancient streets at the heart of Athens’ magical society before, finally, fully breaking apart.

Hermione apparated away.


End file.
